Ashenstone

Ashenstone

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Clan leader / founder
Protector of the glade and the lair

Familiar= Damocles, a centaur of clan Aquiline

Formed an alliance with the centaurs along with Duskwarden in the clan's early days.
In the early days of the clan, when the lair had to be defended in battle more often than not, there were some points of contention between Ashenstone and her mate; Ashenstone is willing to do whatever is required to defend the land, plants, small animals, and other aspects of the glade itself, while Duskwarden was unwilling to put his dragons in the way of any unnecessary harm. By the end of the war they were able to find a strategy that protected both the lair and its inhabitants. Today the clan is well enough established that constant defensive fighting is no longer needed, especially with the centaurs watching the clan's back.
Ashenstone often wanders into the forest at strange times of the day or night to be in contact with the glade and sometimes to speak with Lindenshield. She's one of the few dragons with whom Lindenshield will almost always talk. While Ashenstone has all the leadership, diplomacy, and social skills which are utterly foreign to Lindenshield, they share a deep connection with and desire to protect the glade.

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A cluster of dragons waited at the entrance to the cave as the sun began sinking in the sky. They milled about, whispering, gesturing every so often at the gaping stone maw. Sometimes they listened intently, then returned to talking among themselves. As the daylight waned, claws scratched at the stone mesa below them and horned heads tossed in the air. They all had one ear turned toward the cave, listening for the sounds of a cracking eggshell and the skittering of new claws searching for traction on the cave floor.

They were a race known as the Guardians. Large dragons with noble features, armored fins lining their muscular limbs, faces, and chests. Long beards grew from the chins of the older males. Thick spines edged along their backs between large leathery wings, and strong horns sloped downward from each fin-framed head. A Guardian reached maturity when it grew old enough to fly on its own, but it could only reach adulthood when it had warded. Warding was the thing that set Guardians apart from the other races of dragons. When they came of age, they would find that something was calling to them. It might be an artifact, a place, even another dragon. The urge to find it overcomes them, and they begin a long journey known as the Search, a journey that only ends once the Guardian has reached whatever was calling to them. They almost never know what it is until they discover it, but when they do, they pledge the rest of their lives to protect their newfound charge from harm.

This group was known as the Eastwatch Clan. Their lairs were on an around a mountain cliff overlooking the forest to the west and the ocean to the east. Some members of the group that now stood surrounding the cave opening had found their charge and settled in. Some were only visitors staying in the clan briefly in preparation for continuing their journey. Still others, many of the younger dragons, had not yet felt the pull that signified the beginning of a Guardian’s Search. But now, they all stopped as they heard the shell break, and their large heads turned to peer into the cave and watch the youngest hatchling emerge from the shards of its egg.

The baby stretched out her slate-gray wings and let out a noise somewhere between a growl and a yawn. Her scales were barely distinguishable as a dark forest green in the rapidly waning light. The eldest looked to the sky, saw the position of the sun, and let out a bellow. The others began milling about, every one touching their nose to the new hatchling, maintaining a respectful distance so that the soft, small body would not be crushed by an influx of massive adults. She was a sunset child, and they did not know how long she would remain with them.

Dragons who hatched in the heat of day or the dark of night were kept within the clan, to keep it alive and guard it from intruders. Although a small number of them were pulled away to protect other things, the children of day and night would usually remain near to the place of their birth, and ward something close. Their charges always turned out to be another dragon in the clan, or a cave, or something at the nearby shoreline, or a hoard of something that could be kept close. Their Search never seemed to take them far away, and they’d always lay their own eggs in the lair, even if they were eventually destined to leave.

But the Guardians had to spread somehow. One clan could not continue growing indefinitely, and the protective natures of the Guardian race made them necessary in other parts of the world. And so, for as long as any of them could remember, the dragons born at sunrise, sunset, dawn and dusk (transition children, they were called) had grown up to leave the nest and found their own clan somewhere else. Something about the changing light that hit their eyes as they stepped out of the nest for the first time made transition children restless. They never stayed in the clan they were born in. Sometimes they’d leave as soon as they grew old enough to fly. Sometimes they’d stay for years into adulthood. Some of them even found pairs and had children of their own before finally being called away. But they all left in time.

The new hatchling was called Ashenstone, a traditional compound name of the sort used by most of the dragons born in Eastwatch Clan. She was born in a stone cave, overlooking the western forest of ash trees, with wings the color of one and a body the color of the other. She spent her first night restless, walking and stretching and pouncing while the other dragons slept. It was only a few hours after sundown that most of the adults went to sleep, leaving only the newborn and the guards on night duty. One of the guards was told to watch out for the baby, to keep her entertained but not to let her out of the cave until the sun was up again. Guardians were strong and stocky, but a baby of any race could easily be carried off by a predator, and a hatchling who couldn’t fly has no business walking alone at the edge of a cliff. Ashenstone had all night to practice walking, and soon got the hang of running without toppling over. She continually charged at the guard in the cave entrance, making a game of trying to escape. She’d get a running start, jump, and be easily blocked by the large, chuckling adult. The moment the sun peeked over the eastern horizon and the sky began to lighten, Ashenstone narrowed her eyes competitively. She ran to the back of the cave, turned around, sprinted toward the guard, and leaped. The guard made a show of trying to stop her with his tail, but deliberately aimed low. The hatchling sailed over his tail and rolled to an inelegant stop just outside the cave. Landing wasn’t her best skill.

The clan greatly enjoyed Ashenstone’s youthful energy during the time she spent in Eastwatch Clan, but it was soon time for the sunset child to depart. As soon as she felt comfortable flying fairly long distances, she set off on her Search to find her charge and whatever adventures lay on the path between it and herself. Most of the clan stayed up to watch her depart. She left them as she’d arrived, at sunset, and she flew toward the forests in the west, chasing the sun to the green and unexplored horizon.